Fourth from the Fire
by FizzleBug
Summary: It's an honor to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. As always, Harry Potter is just trying to survive. What will he discover in this new and deadly gauntlet? And what kind of wizard will he be, should he live to see its end? (Yet another take on the Triwizard Tournament - with slightly different results. Let's see where this goes… )
1. The Trouble with Dragon-Fire

"Dragons?!"

Hermione looked positively horrified. "You're sure?"

"Quite," said Harry miserably. He recalled vividly the sight of the beasts, the razor-sharp teeth and the shooting tongues of fire still uncomfortably fresh in his mind.

"But that can't be safe!" countered Hermione, her features contorting with worry. "Surely they'd never put you up against live dragons, Harry - I'm not sure that Dumbledore could slay one, let alone a student..."

"I don't think we need to slay them, 'Mione; Charlie said we just need to get past them, whatever that means." Harry hardly thought that this was any better; how do you get past a fire-breathing monster without killing it?

"Well, that's something," said Hermione brightly, apparently oblivious to the hopelessness of the situation as the gears in her mind began to turn. "Now, you can't stun it - not alone, anyway... maybe you could multiply yourself - no, but we don't learn copy charms until 6th year... maybe you could transfigure it into something less dangerous - mm, but it would take a lot of magic for something so big... maybe..."

Whilst Hermione continued to go over her growing list of ways to get him killed, Harry racked his brain for what Sirius could possibly have ben hinting at with his cryptic clue from the night before. Something simple, apparently. But what simple spell could take out a 50-foot dragon? And could he learn it by tomorrow morning?

"...Well, at any rate," continued Hermione (she'd run out of ideas by now), "you won't be in mortal danger, will you? The dragon handlers will be there to make sure nothing goes _too_ badly for you, no doubt."

"I guess," said Harry, unsure of what Charlie was going to do after he'd already been smashed, eaten, burnt to a crisp or any number of fates more horrible than the ones he'd picked for himself last month for Divination.

"Come on," said Hermione, getting up from their table in the corner of the Common Room, "I'm sure we'll find loads of good solutions in..."

" _Don't say it,_ " said Harry ruefully, knowing perfectly well what was coming next.

"...the library!" continued Hermione, smiling.

***

They had little luck with finding answers to Harry's dragon problem, but by the time they left for Defense Against the Dark Arts at noon, Harry felt quite well-versed in the myriad things that _did not_ work on dragons. Their hides deflected most offensive spells, including many powerful charms Harry had neither learnt nor heard of. Fire-based magic was, naturally, useless, and water spells seemed only to enrage the beasts. Harry had hoped they'd have a weak spot in their soft underbellies through which he could drive a sword (he remembered something about that from a Muggle children's book), but Hermione cheerfully informed him that dragon hide was thoroughly impenetrable and, furthermore, he did not have a sword.

"I mean, it's clearly not _impossible,_ " said Hermione not-quite-confidently as they climbed the stairs to D.A.A., "you just need a good plan of attack."

"Yeah," said Harry, "and I'll be needing a good mason by the end of it - 'Here lies Harry Potter, eaten by a dragon...'"

Hermione gave him a stern look. "That's not funny," she said, and, to Harry's surprise, her eyes were suddenly misty with tears.

"Oh - 'Mione!" said Harry, and - not quite sure what to do - he instinctively put his arms around her. "I was only joking... of course I'll be fine..."

She sniffled into his robes and looked up at him. "I know, Harry, but... I'm worried about you. We all are." She meant Ron, of course, although Harry hardly believed it after the last few weeks. "Just be careful, ok?"

"'Course I will, 'Mione. When have I ever been reckless?" he said, grinning, trying to cheer her up. He suddenly felt like a right git for causing her so much worry. He resolved then to put on a brave face for the rest of the tournament (or however much of it he survived, at least). "Now, let's go see what manner of evil Moody's cooked up for us today!"

***

Moody, it turned out, was still bent on familiarizing them all with the Unforgivable Curses and all their horrible uses. Today he wanted them to see what the Imperius Curse was like, first-hand.

Under the direction of Moody's wand, Harry's classmates suddenly had no qualms about making fools of themselves in public. Seamus danced a merry jig with practiced grace; Lavender croaked like a bullfrog; Neville performed a series of quite impressive gymnastic maneuvers.

"Potter," growled Moody, "you're next!"

Reluctantly, Harry approached the desk as Moody raised his wand. He braced for the worst... and was suddenly overcome with the most pleasant sensation of peace and relaxation. Instantly, any thought of dragons, tournaments or Death Eaters vanished from his mind. It was really quite nice.

Then he heard a small voice from some empty corner of his mind, calling out to him.

" _Jump onto the desk!"_ it commanded.

Sure enough, Harry had a powerful urge to obey. He bent his knees, ready to leap, but then another voice - stronger than the first - sounded in his ear.

" _Why?_ " it wondered.

" _Jump onto the desk!"_ the first voice commanded again, more insistently this time.

 _"_ _Why, though? Stupid idea, really..."_ said the second voice again. " _I don't think I will..."_

" _Jump, now!"_

 _"_ _No thanks."_

" _JUMP!"_

The next thing Harry felt was the pain in his skull as he crashed head-first into Professor Moody's desk. He had apparently tried to jump and not-jump at the same time, which resulted in a sort of awkward, headlong dive.

"Well done, Potter!" Moody was saying as Harry stood up, his ears ringing. "See that? Potter fought it - damn near beat it, too! Let's try that again - watch his eyes this time, that's where it is..."

Moody ended up putting him through his paces half a dozen more times in front of the class, until Harry could almost throw off the curse completely. By the sixth go-round, the once-commanding voice had become only the faintest nagging thought in the back of his mind. He ignored its ludicrous demands easily.

"Can't resist the urge to show off, can you Potter?" sneered Malfoy as Moody dismissed the class for today. "Fat lot of good that parlor trick will do you tomorrow morning, though..." The Slytherins laughed loudly together as they trooped out of the room, each flashing their "Potter Stinks" badges with glee.

"Ignore them, Harry," said Hermione, levelheaded as ever. "You know Malfoy will take any excuse to knock you down a peg, especially after a performance like that..." Hermione was referring to the fact that Malfoy - under the steady wand of Professor Moody - had completed a rather flamboyant series of high-kicks to the tune of "The Infernal Gallop." He was really quite talented.

"Dunno," said Ron as he brushed past them with his books. "He's got a point."

Harry resisted the urge to call Ron any number of very-apt vulgar words, and just in time, too - at that instant he felt a meaty hand on his shoulder.

"Potter," said Moody behind him. "Let's have a drink in my office, shall we?"

 _Bugger,_ thought Harry as he made his way reluctantly down the corridor, struggling to match the uneven gate of the retired Auror, _can that weird eye of his read minds now, too?_

***

"Bang up job in there, Potter," said Moody as he handed Harry a cup of what was almost-definitely fire-whisky. "You've got the makings of a stalwart wizard in you yet."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, not quit sure of what else there was to say to that.

"But," continued Moody, "even the very best spell-casters will have some trouble with dragon fire."

Harry all but coughed up his drink.

"I... but sir... how did you...?" he sputtered.

Moody grinned at him. "This old eye's good for more than just peeking through a witch's skirt," he laughed, tapping the side of his head with one finger. "Aye, I know about the little midnight stroll you took with Hagrid. And a bit more besides. That's a very nice cloak you've got yourself - be careful not to lose it."

"I - sir, honestly, it was Hagrid's idea, and..."

Moody held up a gnarled hand at that. "Potter, we have a name in the Auror's office for wizards who play by the rules," he said. "We call them 'dead.' It'll do you a fat lot of good to be chivalrous in a contest like this - believe you me, no on else is."

Harry could believe it. Surely Madame Maxime had told her student what she'd seen in the Forest that night. But had she also told Fleur how to pass the test? Was it possible that he was the only champion who'd be going in blind?

"Sir," said Harry. "D'you really reckon the other Champions are being coached on how to win the tournament?"

"Most certainly," said Moody. "Trouble is, even the best training isn't always enough - especially when you're dealing with live dragons. I'd say you've got as good a shot as any of 'em at surviving this thing."

Harry nodded weakly. He was still having quite a bit of trouble believing that he was going to get through the morning with all of his limbs intact.

"You scared, Potter?" asked Moody, eyeing him with that icy blue eye of his.

 _No use lying now,_ thought Harry. "Yes, Professor. I am."

Moody smiled. "Good," he said. "That means you're not stupid." Here the old wizard hauled himself out of his leather chair and began to move about his office, his magical eye whirling in his head as he rummaged through his desk and lectern, apparently searching for something. "Why do you imagine they chose dragons as the first task, Potter?" asked Moody as he continued to sort through a seemingly endless series of magical curious.

"Erm," said Harry, going to the obvious first. "They're dangerous?"

"Aye, they are," said Moody, without turning to look at him. "Among the nastiest beasts in magical creation. Razor sharp teeth, whipping tails, molten-hot fire-breath that can melt a wizard in his boots, the whole lot," he said, listing off these terrifying attributes as though they were items on a grocery list. He appeared to have found what he was searching for - it had been at the bottom of his magical bag - and was examining it in his hand. From a distance, it appeared to be a small piece of charred kindling.

"But no," continued Moody, turning over the object in his hands. "The trick about dragons is, they're smart. Wicked smart. A dragon anticipates its prey's movements before the poor bugger knows it himself. You dance here, you dance there," said Moody, miming the movement with his hand in front of him, "and then - BANG," he said, snapping his fingers, "suddenly you're char-broiled!" Moody laughed loudly at this, making Harry slightly uncomfortable.

"See, all that fire-power would be useless if it weren't for that killer instinct," said Moody, looking at Harry again with that cold eye of his. "To beat 'em, you've gotta' outsmart 'em. And to outsmart 'em, you've gotta' make them slip up. And how do you make a dragon slip up?" asked Moody.

"Erm..." began Harry, quite stupefied by the strange direction that Moody was driving at. Thankfully Moody cut him off before he could say anything too stupid.

"Well, you've gotta' rile 'em up, of course!" concluded Moody, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You've gotta' get 'em angry, make 'em nervous. Dragons are hotheads, you know. Get 'em hot enough and they start to get sloppy."

Harry had very little personal experience with dragons, but from what he'd seen in the Forest that night - the roaring and the glimmering flame - he could well believe that, just maybe, that burning rage could be turned against them in exactly the manner that Moody was describing. But how?

"I've got a few ideas for you," said Moody, reading his mind again. "It's not too difficult to annoy a dragon, not when its back is too the wall. We're very alike in that way," continued Moody, "dragons and wizards."

Harry looked at Moody quizzically. What was he on about now?

"Spellcraft is a mind game, Harry - a wizard is only as powerful as his wits are sharp. A bumbling hedge-wizard could take down the Dark Lord himself if he was quick enough on the draw; it's all about quick thinking, knowing what spell to sling, and when. See what I'm getting at?"

Harry nodded, although he was still very unsure of what any of this had to do with tomorrow's task.

"I've seen you duel, Harry," said Moody. "You're plenty strong - stronger than all three of these "Champions" put together, I'd wager. But that's not your true strength, no, the real rub is that you're _quick_. Sharp. Witty - like your father was. You reflexes are some of the best I've seen."

"Sir, I don't know if..." began Harry.

Moody cut him off. "Haven't you noticed that - in the heat of the duel - your hands seem to know what to do? That your opponent is moving slowly - like you can tell what's coming next before it happens?"

"Well," said Harry. He had never really thought about it before - but now it sounded very familiar. "I suppose so, yes."

"Aye, it's true. I know it because I'm the same way. All crack duelists are. But," he said, fingering that charred bit of wood in his hands again, "you're raw. Untested. You heat up too easily. And heating up dulls your wits; it makes you slower, sloppier. Reckless. It'll kill you, one of these days."

Harry could feel is blood start to boil in that instant. Who was this old wizard to call him sloppy? And, in the same instant, he knew it was all totally and cruelly true. He _had_ to learn to control his emotions somehow, especially now, when frayed nerves could so easily get him eaten by fire-breathing monsters.

"You remind me of an old friend, Potter," said Moody suddenly. "Maxx Madrigal. An old partner, actually - he came up with me at Hogwarts. We joined the Aurors together; we fought back-to-back against some of the most nefarious dark wizards of the age. He was powerfully magical, Maxx was - twice the wizard I'll ever be - but he got a little testy when the heat was on. Never really got a handle on that temper, and that was wont to make him careless. And carelessness - well carelessness is a liability in our line of work..."

"He was killed," said Harry, anticipating Moody's direction. "Killed by a Death Eater."

"What?" said Moody, chuckling at the idea. "No, certainly not. Maxx ran circles around dark wizards, Harry. He was too quick for them, and, besides, they're always sloppy on the draw. No, no, this was years later. After the Dark Times. Maxx found himself under contract in the wilds of Hungary, you see, doing routine magical defense. Nothing too dicey. But Maxx had lost his edge over the years - happens to the best of us - and, without me around to keep him cool, he finally made a critical error. And, unfortunately for my old friend, it was an error made against the most cunning and unforgiving of dueling partners..."

At that, Moody tossed Harry the bit of kindling he'd been holding throughout his lecture. It was light in his fingers, and curiously weighted: the blackened remnant of a burnt wand.

"Maxx was powerful - just like you, Harry," said Moody, leaning in close to give him the full force of his cold gaze. "Maxx was quick. Maxx was cunning. And Maxx _died_." 


	2. Flights and Fancies (Part 1)

**Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone's who's followed and reviewed my little start of a story! Hope you've enjoyed what you've seen. Decided to split this next bit up into two mini-chapters, as there's a lot going on (and a lot for me to edit - apologies in advance for any mistakes!). So, without further ado, here's Chapter 2, Part 1...**

* * *

The morning of November 24th dawned bright and clear. A crisp fall breeze had scattered the clouds, rustling the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, somewhere beyond which stirred a sleeping dragon with Harry's name on it.

He had not slept a wink last night; he'd been well past midnight practicing Moody's summoning charm until his better judgment (and Hermione's urging) prevailed. He then lay in his 4-poster for the remainder of the night, quite wide-awake with nerves. The constant summoning practice had allowed him to put the task out of his mind somewhat, but now the dragon in his stomach had returned fiercer than ever. It was not just the threat of death by fire that tormented him - what if he survived, but couldn't pass the task? It was hard to imagine his reputation sinking much lower - but still, the thought of the disappointed looks from all the Gryffindors, from Hagrid and Hermione... Cho would laugh at him for sure...

He pushed the thought out of his mind (he'd rather be eaten than face that latter scenario, he was sure). Instead he focused on his breathing, feeling the air fill his chest and rush out again - one of many rather intense exercises Moody had shown him yesterday afternoon, designed to soothe an Auror's nerves in the heat of battle. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of his own body, noticing a slight tightness in his abdomen, the ache of a bruise on his left shoulder, the strength in his fingers... He repeated the mantras Moody taught him - " _Fear is an illusion," "There is no enemy but for myself," "Speed is strength"_ \- until, slowly but surely, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

When the first rays of dawn peeked through his curtains (much too soon), Harry rolled out of bed, dressed hastily, and went down into the common room for some last minute summoning practice. He could now quite confidently call forth cushions on command, but whether he'd be able to do the same at great distance and with a dragon in front of him was less certain.

Harry did not bother trying to force food into his quaking stomach; instead he sat down to breakfast with a large mug of very strong coffee, into which the twins insisted he pour several ounces of Ogden's Best, smuggled from the Burrow in an oversized sock.

"Bitta' Dutch courage, Harry!" said George, grinning. "Fight fire with fire!"

Harry looked enviously at the crowds of students breakfasting around him, enjoying their day off and chatting excitedly about the coming show. He found himself wishing, now more than ever, that he was one of them, that he could soon take his place safely in the back of the stands to watch the champions compete, to root for Cedric and visit Hagrid afterward.

He got up briskly; it was half-past 9, and though he wasn't expected in the champion's tent for another 15 minutes, he saw no good in torturing himself any longer. He left the hall in a hurry, cheers (and jeers from the Slytherins) following him out.

The other champions had already arrived; apparently they'd all had the same idea. Fleur was standing by the fire, shaking visibly even at a distance and looking extraordinarily pale. Krum was even surlier than usual, while Cedric was pacing the length of the tent over and over, slightly green in the face. He smiled weakly at Harry as he entered.

"Well now," said Ludo Bagman, clapping his hands with obvious excitement, "if we're all ready, let's begin!" Here he produced from an inner pocket a small, velvet bag. The four champions stared at it as though it were a ticking bomb. "You're each to draw something out of this pouch, which will determine the order in which you will compete and the, er, _nature_ of your obstacle. Fleur, ladies first..."

Fleur strode over and reached a trembling hand into the pouch. After a moment she withdrew it again, and in her palm, flapping its tiny wings and preening itself, was a to-scale moving model of a slender green dragon with a number "3" hanging from its neck. As he'd expected, none of the other champions looked remotely surprised at the sight of it, although their faces retained the same sickly pallor.

"Krum, you're next!" Krum drew the red dragon with the golden frill around its neck; it carried the number "2" placard. Cedric picked out a stout blue dragon with curled horns, numbered "1."

Harry could've laughed; of course the dragon he'd been dreading most would be his. Resignedly, he reached into the bag and pulled out the last model, with its dangling number "4" collar.

"Right then," said Bagman. "Your task will be to retrieve a golden egg from a clutch of dragon eggs, each guarded by the dragon you now hold in your palm. Cedric, you'll be first with the Swedish Short-Snout." Cedric smiled hopefully. "Fleur's next with the Common Welsh Green" - Fleur remained expressionless - "Krum, you'll have the Chinese Fireball" - Krum's scowl only deepened - "and Potter is last, facing the Hungarian Horntail."

As if on cue, the tiny dragon in Harry's palm blew an impressive jet of black fire out its snout and swished its tail dangerously. Harry knew the other champions must've been thanking their lucky stars.

"Cedric, you'll be entering the arena in 5 minutes time. If any of you have any last minute preparations to make" - here he smiled knowingly at Harry - "do so now!"

The champions all resumed their previous postures at this dismissal, now looking even more terrified than before, if possible. Cedric was pacing again. Harry, now quite numb with nerves, had chosen a seat on a bench at the rear of the tent, willing his heart to beat more slowly and staring at the grass in front of him - _how had he never noticed just how wonderful grass was?_ \- when a determined "psst!" just behind him made him jump. He turned to see a pair of familiar brown eyes staring at him through a tent flap - it was Hermione.

Harry got up and made as if he was inspecting his riding gloves curiously close to the tent flap (the champions were not allowed visitors).

"Harry," whispered Hermione. Her voice was shaking slightly. "How are you feeling?

"Er... OK." He was surprised that she'd come - pleasantly, though. Hearing her voice made him feel worlds better.

"You'll be fine, Harry," she said, as though reassuring herself as much as him, "you just need to... er..."

"...battle a dragon?" Harry finished for her.

"Yes. Exactly." A moment passed before there was a sudden flurry of motion in which Hermione slipped into the tent and threw her arms around him. They embraced for the briefest of moments - not nearly long enough to Harry's mind, as the warmth of her body against his was extremely comfortable - before Harry was forced to extricate himself (not without some difficulty, as she was grasping the front of his robes with surprising force).

"'Mione," he said, gently tilting her chin and lowering his gaze to meet her eye-line, "oh, blimey - please don't cry..." Harry knew he was rubbish with crying girls, but he did his best to comfort her. "Hey - of course I'll be alright; we both know I've seen loads worse than this. And besides - I'm great with reptiles, remember?" he said, referring to his skill with Parseltongue (he had no idea if dragons counted as reptiles; he suspected they did not). Hermione giggled at this, music to Harry's ears.

"Just watch, ok?" said Harry. "I'll be out of there in two shakes, and we'll all have a good laugh about it!"

 _Yeah,_ thought Harry, _two shakes. Sure._ Hermione, though, seemed somewhat satisfied, and with a last tearful "Good luck, Harry!" she left in a rush.

Harry heaved a great sigh and sat down heavily, wishing this whole thing over and done. _Just a few more minutes,_ he thought as he once again attempted to slow his breathing, going over his mantras again ( _"I do not know fear," "I am the wind; fire cannot touch me"_ ). It helped some - but not much.

"She's worried about you," came a French-accented voice from directly in front of him. Harry jumped again - people needed to stop sneaking up on him. "She cares about you very much."

Harry looked up in surprise to see Fleur standing over him. He had no idea why she was suddenly speaking to him; in every prior meeting they'd had she'd regarded him as though he were something unpleasant stuck to her shoe. _Maybe she wants to make her closing remarks..._ thought Harry hopefully.

"Yeah, I know it," was all he could think to say. But Fleur was already striding back over to her place by the fireside, although she smiled at him as she turned, making Harry's insides do a somersault completely unrelated to dragons.

 _What was that about?_ wondered Harry. He was still puzzling it out when Ludo Bagman called from outside, "Miss Delacour, you're up!"

Harry did not watch whatever was going on in the arena, and he did his best to tune out Bagman's play-by-play announcing. Instead he tried to concentrate on his own plan of action - summon the broom and fly like mad, essentially - although he was having a rough time of it; tremendous roars from outside kept breaking his reverie, as did the visual echo of Fleur's smile playing before his eyes.

"And Krum's done it!" shouted Bagman, much too soon. It was Harry's turn now. He got up and strode to the tent's entrance, jaw set, hands white around his wand.

 _This is it,_ he thought, taking this last moment to dwell on calming visuals and sensations - another trick of Moody's. _The feeling of wind rushing through his hair on the Quidditch pitch... the red and gold of his House's banner... waking up in the Burrow last summer... the deep hazel of a familiar pair of eyes..._

"...Mr. Potter, please enter the arena!"

 _Here we go..._

* * *

 **A.N.: Part 2 coming up shortly. Please let me know your thoughts - I'm always eager to improve. Thanks guys!**


	3. Flights and Fancies (Part 2)

**A.N.: ...and here's part 2 of our dragon adventure!**

* * *

The crowd must have been cheering. Harry couldn't hear anything above the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart in his chest. They might have been laughing, too; Harry was dimly aware of how stupid he must have looked, standing still, wand outstretched, as a 50-foot Hungarian Horntail sat mere feet in front of him.

The stands were packed to bursting; he knew that they held students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, but still the crowd seemed far too large. Had the villagers of Hogsmeade turned up too? Excited faces beamed down from all sides. _There's Ron and Hermione..._ he noted. _There's Hagrid, there's Dumbledore... there's Cho..._

And there, in the center of the ring, was the dragon. It crouched low over a clutch of eggs, wings huddled about it like a monstrous bat at rest. The breathing was a vast bellows; burning steam issued out its nostrils. For the moment, at least, it was placid, its enormous yellow eyes betraying a sort of mild curiosity, as though it was still deciding what this small creature before it was - if he posed a threat, and if there was enough meat on him to make a meal.

For his part, Harry stood perfectly still, meeting the beast's gaze head on. A part of him - the insane part, clearly - felt the urge to approach it, to put his hand on its scaly hide and feel its hot breath against his skin. He remembered the feeling, all those years ago, of locking eyes with that giant snake in the zoo, of speaking to it and hearing the movement of its reptile brain against his own. A small memory of that sensation was echoing within him now as he watched the dragon's slit pupils expand and contract with interest. _Dragons are just big snakes, really,_ thought Harry. _A bloody big snake that wants to eat me..._

All too suddenly, Bagman's voice rang out again. "3... 2... 1..." Harry held his breath, willing time to slow in his mind. "Begin!"

Quidditch reflexes fully at play, instantly Harry extended his hand and commanded, firmly and clearly, " _Accio Firebolt!_ "

For several horrible, deafening moments - nothing. The crowd had gone quiet. Someone started to laugh; surely Harry looked like a fool, standing there. The Horntail was waving its head side to side like a serpent poised to strike, obviously deciding whether Harry would be better raw or cooked...

Then came the faint _whishing_ sound of something flying through the air. And, out over the trees, coming fast, was his Firebolt.

A great cheer went up as Harry grasped it in his gloved hands, triumphant. He mounted, kicked off hard, and suddenly everything changed for Harry: he was flying again. This was his element. The arena far below became a Quidditch pitch, the egg an overlarge snitch, and the Horntail another great, ugly keeper. He shot toward the dragon like a bullet, grinning all the while.

He swooped low; the dragon, enraged and afraid, snapped wildly at him, but he pulled up under its long neck and shot into the air again.

"Great Scott, the boy can fly!" shouted Bagman, giddy with excitement. Again Harry dove at the dragon, pulled a feint, dove again. He needed to draw the great beast away from its eggs to give himself a shot at grabbing one, and though the horntail was growing frustrated, still it would not budge. On the next pass it missed again, but now it sent a jet of fire after Harry, who spun sideways only just in time. The crowd gasped with fright.

 _At least they're on MY side,_ thought Harry. The dance continued, Harry drawing ever closer, pulling more daring feints, desperate to draw the dragon out. The beast was roaring with rage now; the stands shook with its fury. Finally Harry swooped low, right under the dragon's belly - he could've touched the egg - but when he pulled up he ran straight into the mighty spiked whip of the monster's horned tail.

"Ooh!" cried Bagman, "a close shave there, Potter!"

Hot blood ran down his arm where the spikes had raked his shoulder, but he scarcely felt the pain. He needed to change his tactics - wheeling about, he faced the dragon, hovering just out of its reach. The dragon snapped at him to no avail; it could not get at him without leaving the eggs. It blew jets of black fire at him now, but he dodged these with ease. The dragon had had enough. It gave a great roar, taking one step toward him, and then another.

"C'mon, you great lizard!" shouted Harry, waving it on. And then, switching to Parseltongue without thinking: " _Come for me - I'm right here!"_

That did the trick at last - too well, it seemed. For the Horntail did not advance further; instead, it began to beat its monstrous wings. The stands flew into a panicked frenzy. Bagman was shouting something to the dragon tamers. But it was too late; with a noise like a hurricane, the dragon took flight.

It flew at Harry faster than he would have believed possible, breaking the chain around its leg with ease. Panicking, he turned and shot in the opposite direction, all thought of eggs and tournaments gone. He hazarded a glance back, and, convinced that the dragon had him in its sights, made a hard right, soaring over the treetops. His first thought had been to lead the beast away from the arena; the dragon was out of control, clearly, and there was no telling what it might do to the crowd (he'd been assured that the stands were protected by wards, but he was not taking the chance). That accomplished, he now had to save his own skin.

He was flying faster than he'd ever flown before, desperate to keep 40 feet between himself and the Horntail's jaws, but still the beast was gaining on him. He swerved left, right, pulled up and dove; the dragon matched him move for move. He seemed to be trapped in the most terrifying seeker chase of his life... and he was the golden snitch. A burst of flame behind him singed the hair on the back of his neck. Another came even closer, until Harry - acting on reflex alone, faster than even he could anticipate - shot a spell over his shoulder; his wand hand suddenly felt very cold, but he was unharmed. He did not know if he could do that again.

Then Harry had an idea. Picking his spot carefully, he dove into the forest canopy below. _It can't follow me in here,_ he thought, ducking tree branches in the darkness. He saw the dragon's shadow pass overhead - he seemed to have lost the creature. He doubled back now, flying near the forest floor; _I might be able to complete this task after all..._

At the forest's edge, nearest the arena, he shot up through the treetops again - and straight into the Horntail's waiting jaws.

" _GAH!"_ Harry swerved at the last moment, right through the dragon's fanged maw. He shot up into the sky, the Horntail in hot pursuit. There was only one thing left to try now, or he was toast.

" _What do you do when the other guy's quicker and has your number?_ " Oliver Wood's voice rang out in his head. Harry knew. Higher and higher he climbed, the icy wind whipping at this face, the dragon clawing up through the clouds behind him. And then, when the arena was only a little circle of green far below, he turned and dove past the pursuing Horntail, so close that he could see the surprise in its yellow eyes.

He dropped through empty space; he did not need to look to know the dragon was just behind, its wings curled about it, falcon-like, as it dove after its prey. It was eerie quiet in those long seconds, as the glittering mirror of the lake drew closer... and closer... and closer. Time slowed with Harry's breathing. The fall stretched on into eternity, as if Harry and the dragon were frozen there in the sky, two winged insects caught in a drop of blue amber. Harry felt the dragon's breath on his back as it reached out its jaws to embrace him...

Then Harry pulled up, hard.

An explosion of boiling steam erupted behind him as five tons of angry dragon collided with cold lake water. Harry's toes grazed the water's surface; ducking close to his broomstick, he outraced the vapor and shot skyward once again, crazy with elation and relief. He tore toward the arena to the deafening cheers of the crowd, hundreds of stunned faces beaming up at him. Harry Potter had cheated death once again.

He touched down in the center of the arena to find the golden egg unguarded, lifted it with shaking hands just in time for a crowd of ecstatic Gryffindors to lift him onto their shoulder and carry him out onto the lawn. They were chanting something - his ears, still deafened by the roar of the Horntail, struggled to make it out - that sounded a lot like " _HARRY! HARRY! HARRY..."_

"You were brilliant, Harry! Absolutely brilliant!" shouted Hermione, catching him in her arms after the crowd had finally deposited him by the lake. She was crying again - with relief or joy, Harry wasn't sure - and the sight of her made Harry's heart start pounding all over again.

"Blimey, Harry," someone - probably George or Fred - was saying, "nobody said you had to _kill_ the bloody thing..."

"Oy, but look there!" shouted Seamus, pointing towards the lake.

The water erupted and smoked as the half-drowned Horntail hauled itself sputtering up onto the rocky shore. It looked rather worse for wear, Harry thought, shivering and coughing like a soaked cat. It sneezed a long jet of sickly-blue flame.

"Make way, make way!" cried Charlie, leading a group of dragon-tamers carrying several cauldrons of pink Pepperup Potion among them. "Boys, let's get some blankets on her..."

Harry was very glad to learn that the dragon would indeed make a full recovery - despite the fact that she had just tried to eat him, he could not help but continue to admire the beast. She had given him the chase of his life; what could there possibly be to fear in this tournament after he'd bested a foe like her? _Don't jinx it,_ Harry thought to himself as Madame Pomfrey wrestled him away from his friends.

"Let me have a look at that shoulder, Potter," she said, ushering him toward the first aid tent with a look of utter annoyance on her face. "Bloody medieval, this whole ruckus is..."

"Just a moment, Poppy." The unmistakable voice of Albus Dumbledore cut through the commotion. "If you wouldn't mind, I would very much like to borrow Mr. Potter. It is quite urgent."

Madame Pomfrey was positively livid, but - after applying a cursory poultice to Harry's wounds - eventually relented. "10 minutes, Albus - I'll be wanting him back," she said, heaving a long-suffering sigh.

"He shall be returned in better condition than I found him, I promise you," said Dumbledore, guiding Harry out of the tent and up towards the castle. "Harry, I'd like to have a quick word with you about your performance just now," said Dumbledore kindly.

"Er... Professor," ventured Harry, struggling to keep up with the Headmaster's long strides. "Have I done something wrong?" He thought he had comported himself quite admirably just now - if not quite conventionally.

"Not at all, Harry," said Dumbledore. "We just have a few questions for you."

"We...?" said Harry, only then noticing that Mad-Eye Moody had materialized beside him.

"Bang up job back there, Potter," said Moody, grinning at him. "We'll make a champion out of you yet!"

* * *

 **A.N.: Whew! Do review and tell me your thoughts - still have only a vague idea of where this is going. Future updates will come a bit more slowly, I imagine, but there's certainly more to tell. I've got two more tasks and then some. Thanks for reading!**


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